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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26751226">diorite_slab's unfinished hermitcraft fics</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/diorite_slab/pseuds/diorite_slab'>diorite_slab</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Hermitcraft RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Blood and Injury, Gen, M/M, Non-Consensual Blood Drinking, Oneshot, Other, dunno man, it's a snowy day/night and hels hasn't seen snow before, nothing bad happens in this one i promise, oneshots, or so i thought, vampire mumbo? i can do something with that, ←fic number one, ←fic number two</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 12:13:28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,713</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26751226</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/diorite_slab/pseuds/diorite_slab</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>so, basically, all the fics i started writing but lost interest in or got stuck. i just couldn't let these go to waste.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Grian/Mumbo Jumbo, Welsknight/Helsknight</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>22</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. vampire mumbo has a bad time</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>i threw this together in three days and it's not too shabby tbh</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The crescent moon couldn’t quite illuminate the forest floor, the leaf canopy was too dense to let the light through. Mumbo didn’t mind that, though. He could waltz around just fine, even through the darkest shadows cast by the rather thick oak trees. Leaves and sticks crunched beneath his bare feet as he wandered about, with no destination, no purpose. Soon, the land he walked on became more swampy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was sure his eyes were bloodshot and bags hung heavy under them, but he hadn’t been able to get to sleep lately. At least during the night. These days, along with the morning sun came a wave of tiredness. From time to time, he’d fought it, hoping that if he pushed on a bit further, he’d finally fall asleep as the moon showed its face. Magically, the exhaustion vanished at dusk. Every single time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>People had noticed, they’d asked him about it. They’d asked him about the eyes and the bags beneath them and the fatigued demeanor. They’d asked, they’d asked, they’d asked. And every time he’d assured them that he was fine. That it was just insomnia or something, and that they didn’t need to worry. They didn’t have to worry, there was absolutely nothing to worry about! Right?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now, his feet —scratched and filthy— sunk ankle-deep into some waterlogged moss, but he didn’t mind. As long as it didn’t reach his knees, he was fine. As fine as he could be strolling around a bog, sleep-deprived and humming an unfamiliar tune, sometimes muttering to himself a couple reassuring words. He’d be alright eventually, things would resolve on their own, he’d be fine. Those were the things he repeated to himself under his breath. He’d be as fine as humanely possible. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A glance around almost ruined his mood. All around him was an open bog, all flat and depressing, tinted blue either by the moon or his eyes. Maybe he saw a few flowers here and there, maybe he didn’t. Perhaps a scrubby pine tree brushed up against his arm. He could barely trust his own eyes —or his other senses, for that matter. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wasn’t sure if his ears were lying or not, but a sound registered in his brain nonetheless. And not just a sound, but a voice. It sounded male, yes, but he couldn’t recognise the person behind it, not until he got closer to the forest on the other side of the bog.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rather close to the border of the forest, he finally saw the source of the voice. Or maybe he didn’t. The only thing he really noticed was the hazy red blob all tangled up in the treetops, which reminded him of a certain someone’s sweater. And, surprise, there was a person wearing it, also tangled up in the trees.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before he could respond to the voice, the branches gave away, and the person dropped a couple ten feet to the forest floor, hitting about a dozen other branches along the way. Getting closer, his brain decided to finally recognise the unmoving lump before him on the ground. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Grian?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His voice didn’t sound like his own, but had it ever? It was whimper-y and quivering, like the shaking leaves above their heads. It didn’t show any other emotion but concern.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Grian, the red sweater lump, still wasn’t moving, so he got even closer. So close in fact that he could touch Grian, poke him. And he did just that. Finally, the man let out a groan, signaling that he was still alive and not in need of a burial.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...oh no.” Grian’s hair was full of sticks, leaves and whatnot. Lichen. Moss. All that and maybe more. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He kneeled down next to Grian as the latter sat up. “Are y- Are you okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I hope so?” The man’s hands seemed to be functioning well, but something still felt off. Something —that had nothing to do with Grian— felt off. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mumbo brushed a lock of hair from over Grian’s eyes, and quickly yanked his hand back as he felt something dripping down. With a closer look, he realized it to be blood. Thick, dark red blood, staining his pale hand, dripping down to stain his clothes as well. An urge to lick the blood off of his hand was unexpected, but he managed to resist it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re… injured?” He knew he sounded so ridiculously stupid. It was so obvious that where there was blood, there was an injury. Most of the time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, no, I’m fine, I’m fine..!” Grian staggered to his feet, only managing to stay up for a couple seconds before tumbling down onto Mumbo. With a sigh, Grian admitted his defeat. “I’m injured and not fine, yeah. But you’re not fine either.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“At least I can walk..?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You have a point,” Grian muttered as he was helped up, and leaned onto Mumbo for support. The rest of the man’s words turned into a soup of confusion in the latter’s head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The hunger, it gnawed at him. Sometimes it was an empty feeling, sometimes a sensation of burning. The past week he'd felt the mixture of those two. No matter what food he ate, it didn't fill the void deep within, it didn't help. He didn't know what he was missing before. Now he did, as his teeth sunk into the poor man's neck, fangs nicking an artery.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blood. Sweet, sweet blood. The world’s most expensive delicacy, surprisingly easy to obtain every now and then but difficult to get hands on weekly. The blood, it was messy. And it became more and more gross now that he thought about it. But his instincts, they didn’t let him to just stop. Not until his poor, unfortunate and unintentional victim went limp in his arms.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait… Grian?” Panicking, he took a step or two back, letting Grian fall to the ground. Yes, the man appeared to be breathing, and his eyes were open, but he wasn’t moving.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finally, Grian spoke. Or at least tried to. The only thing that came out was a groan of pain, quiet but enough to signal to Mumbo that he wasn’t dead. Yet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, Grian, I’m- I’m-” His words were horribly jumbled, and the things responsible for forming coherent thoughts had all failed miserably. Spectacularly. “I-I-I-I don’t- I didn’t mean to, I wasn’t thinking..! I don’t know what came over me, and… and I’m so, so, so sorry!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The colour of Grian’s sweater was perfect for occasions like this. Had it been any other colour, he’d be freaking out a lot more. Mumbo wasn’t as lucky with his clothing choices that night. His white shirt, it was thoroughly soaked in blood, and now his hands were stained from touching it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His legs refused to cooperate, so he just stood there as his </span>
  <b>unintentional</b>
  <span> prey was bleeding out. Like a deer in headlights, he was. Fumbling for words but none of them fit, none of them could quite express how he felt. And it wasn’t even a moment where his feelings mattered. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>school is stressful and i'm tired</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. hels discovers snow</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>as the title says. hels discovers snow, and wels comes by to 'ruin everything.'</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>i can't remember writing this so it must be like a month old or something</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>He finally washed up on the shore of wakefulness. Despite being dead tired, he crawled out of bed, not giving himself the time to fall asleep again. Why did he even bother getting up? The sun wasn't going to be down until an hour later, and he didn't have any business to attend to that early. No crimes to commit. No lives to threaten. People had seemed to become more desensitised to his intimidation as the days grew shorter, colder and altogether duller. As did his threats.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a loud thump, he fell out of the bed to the floor. Uttering the worst profanities under his breath, he scrambled up, then dragging his very human body to the kitchen after putting on a black silk bathrobe. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It wasn't often that he found himself cursing the world. While this particular one had its bad sides, it had some good things to offer as well. Like the coffee he was sipping at the moment. It was bitter, like him. Or like dark chocolate. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He almost never woke up until the sun had set. The sunsets were quite pretty, he had to admit, but he still preferred sunrises. The latter always told him when it was time to clock out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A while later, he was sprawled out on a couch, having now tied up his hair and changed into a pair of shorts, a sweater and a couple shirts underneath. He was huddled under a blanket, as a cold breeze came by every now and then. Unluckily for him, he couldn't locate the source of it. And despite having a fireplace, he didn't want to light it up. He had tried doing that before, yes, but could only manage to make his house turn into a fog machine. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Soon, he'd gotten bored of just sitting around, so he made the decision to wreak havoc earlier than usual. But first, he had to spy on his unfortunate victim, stalk his prey. For that he couldn't wear his armour, the reasons being quite obvious when you remembered the qualities of steel. The clink-clanking. He could probably kidnap some genius to do the job of making his armour silent, but it'd probably be too much effort for his liking. The kidnapping, that is.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This in mind, he slipped on his sandals which were silent, and promptly opened the front door. The cold air was the first thing that alarmed him. The second thing was the icy, powdery whiteness spread out over his porch like a carpet. He didn't like carpets. He'd plunged one of his feet into the horribly cold stuff already, so he quickly yanked it back, the coldness making his skin tingle like he was being pinched. It wasn't quite bright enough outside anymore to see what else had changed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...the fuck?” He kneeled down, and scooped up a handful of the stuff. It was very light and almost powdery, and quickly melted in his hand, leaving just a small puddle of water. Out of pure curiosity, he took an another scoop. Now he also felt the coldness of it again, the unimaginably freezing coldness.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was interesting, actually, the blanket of cotton-like coldness. He was entranced by it. All the way until a gust of wind made the ice-cold stuff attack him, quite viciously in fact. He scampered back, slamming the door shut behind himself. That stuff was out for blood.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shuffled to a window, and glared at the homicidal powder. Maybe it even glared back. His fingers tingled, but he didn't feel cold. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Breakfast? Was breakfast the thing he craved instead of murder? Was some nutritious substance more tempting than fresh blood on his hands? He could survive solely on screams of pain, but —unfortunately— he had also developed a soft spot for food. Broccoli, to be specific. He didn't seem like the kind of guy to like vegetables, and he didn't, except for that cloud-shaped lump of green. Especially boiled, boiled broccoli was great. Boiled to the point that he didn't even have to chew it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A couple thoughts bounced around the vast emptiness of his head, making a faint little clink every time they crashed together. He wanted to take a closer look at the murder blanket of fluffiness, but couldn't run the risk of drowning under it again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Too deep in his thoughts, a knock at the door didn't register in his head. Well, it wasn't until this very door opened that he was snapped back into reality. He couldn't recognize the person from the pattern of their footsteps.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then, that someone called out for him, “Hels? Are you there?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hmm?” He struggled to find the appropriate reply. “...y-yeah..!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wels peeked into the living room, “Oh, hi!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man's face was quite red, but he appeared happy nonetheless. He was wrapped in a puffer jacket and jeans, wearing some rather warm-looking boots. Some of the cold powder was caked on them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What the hell happened to you?” He glanced at Wels, and then the thick gloves that he had on. “And wh</span>
  <span>—</span>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It's winter!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Winter! You know, temperatures below freezing, snow and almost eternal darkness,” Wels listed, “The good stuff.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What's… what's 'snow'?” He probably pronounced the last word wrong.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don't know what snow is?” Wels left his boots next to the door, and waddled over to him. “Take a guess.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is it… that white stuff? The murder blanket?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The what?” Wels chuckled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don't know..!” He felt like he was being mocked, made fun of. “Is that cold-as-hell shit called snow or not???”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Y-Yeah! It is. You're good at guessing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sighed, “Why's there 'snow' outside? Is it there just to keep me trapped? In here? Forever?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, the science of i</span>
  <span>—</span>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, no, not the science!” Hels draped himself down over the couch rather dramatically. “Can't I get anything explained to me without the involvement of </span>
  <b>science</b>
  <span>?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Umm… Not really. The world is sor</span>
  <span>—</span>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah, just shut it, my dear.” His brain wouldn't have been able to soak up any snow facts at that moment. “Your science makes my stupid little head ache.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That's unfortunate.” Wels sat down next to him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Now, what were you here for again?” He asked, twirling around a strand of hair that had escaped the suffocating grip of the hair tie.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right! I </span>
  <b>was</b>
  <span> just planning on popping by for a visit, but since it's a nice day —no, evening— and you clearly haven't had much experience with snow, I thought I'd</span>
  <span>—</span>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just get to the point already!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I'm dragging you outside to experience the wonders of winter.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <b>There</b>
  <span> you go,” he muttered, “Wait, what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hmm?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, no, I won't go out there,” Hels wrapped the blanket around himself. “I will n</span>
  <span>—</span>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aw, come on… It'd be fun.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shuddered at the thought of touching the 'snow' again. “I don't like fun.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You do.” Wels then stood back up, looking so ridiculous in his puffy jacket. “Come on! You don't want to wait until midnight.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know I say this a lot, my dear, but you're so fucking stupid it makes me feel bad for you.” He crawled out from under the blanket. “Almost.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That's nothing new.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I hate you…” he whispered, and dragged himself towards a storage closet under the stairs. He put all of the clothes he'd ever received there. Oh, and was he going to need a lot of clothes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wels rushed to get to the storage space first, and began rummaging around the untidy piles of clothes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where'd you even get all of these from?” Wels threw out a couple jackets, along with like thirteen unpaired socks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...sacrificial offerings.” Hels shoved his hands into the pockets of his shorts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Gifts?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No. Sacrifices.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Clearly.” Wels then pulled out a light-coloured plaid scarf. “This… This is perfect.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hels took a step back as Wels approached him with the scarf. “Don't you fucking dare..!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Despite Hels' resistance, Wels wrapped the scarf around the former's neck. He didn't hate anything being near his face or neck, but it made him feel quite vulnerable. Like anyone could just strangle him to death. It was a coward's murder method, but it'd get the job done.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“O-kay! And now you'll need a jacket, gloves…” Wels got back to poking around the storage space, humming a tune as he did so.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And, in no time, he was wearing quite a puffy and thick jacket, accompanied by mittens with colourful stripes, warm woolly socks and whatever else Wels had dug up. He could barely move his arms anymore, so big that jacket was.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...I think that's a bit too b</span>
  <span>—</span>
  <span>” Wels started.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, no, it's perfect..! It's good, it's good.” He wouldn't want to go outside underdressed, after all. It wasn't bad to feel a tad bit toasty if it meant that he didn't freeze to death. Being comfortable always made him uneasy pretty quickly, since he didn't deserve to be at ease. Ever. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you say so.” Wels shoved the remaining articles of winter clothing back into the closet. “Ohhh, right… Was there anything else you needed?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I'm still cold. Go figure.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mittens? Socks?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I meant 'set me ablaze',” he sighed awfully loudly, intending it to prompt Wels to burn him to the ground. It didn't work, unfortunately.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wels appeared to realize something. “Wait, wait, wait. Winter boots! You need winter boots.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, my dear, my dear… Obviously!!” He felt like squeezing the life force out of Wels, watching the glow disappear right before his very own eyes. He'd never quite gotten the chance to go all the way through.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Obviously, yeah.” Wels sounded more calm than Hels ever could. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Within five minutes, Wels had dug up a pair of mid-calf, fleece-lined boots. Hels, himself, didn't have anything against them. Except that they were unsightly. Horribly so. And yet, Wels was forcing him to wear them, not bothering to look for any… better boots.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My dear, these are hideous, I must say.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You won't see them in the snow,” Wels pointed out. And what a point he had.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I'm not going knee-deep in that white stuff.” he insisted, but Wels just gave him a lighthearted smile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That's what you think.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He let out a groan. Wels wasn't going to be swayed by simple wordplay, for sure. </span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>Hesitantly, he stepped outside. He was prepared to be taken over by the cold. But it only hit his upper face, like tiny claws pinching all around his eyes, not quite reaching under the scarf covering his mouth. Now he was glad that he hadn't kicked off those disgusting boots.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wels found a lantern, and lit up the candle inside. Still, it couldn't warm up Hels' cold, dead heart. Nor his freezing fingers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The glow of the lantern illuminated the surrounding land. Mountains of 'snow' —he hated using that word— all around them, trees completely covered by the white blanket, the moon glowing close to the line in the horizon. It wasn't a full moon, barely a half. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He took a few careful steps forward, stepping off the porch. The horrible snow crunched beneath his feet. He hated that, just as he did everything. Not a single thing escaped his hatred.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I now regret not kicking you out before you could force me to do this.” His voice was slightly muffled by the scarf.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can go back if you'd like,” Wels replied, “But it'd make me sad.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Guilting me won't reduce the hatred I feel towards you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wels simply laughed off that remark. Maybe, just maybe, he wouldn't laugh so much with his precious little eyes freshly ripped out of his head. Oh, how Hels would savour it, relish every single second. He took pleasure in causing as much pain and suffering as possible, for as long as possible. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His brain must've shut off for a bit, as he was yanked back into reality when something fell on his hand —or mitten, may I say. Something quite light, something that melted surprisingly quickly. And after that, more of the same stuff began raining down from the starry sky.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Obviously, he didn't know what the hell was going on. It was like rain, but… frozen? It wasn't ice, no, he knew what ice was. Soon, the cotton ball-looking things grew bigger. He couldn't see as far anymore.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wels appeared beside him again, still holding up the lantern. “I quite like it when it snows.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But… This is horrible!” He tried to avoid the snowflakes hitting his face, but it was to no avail. The snow was too determined to ruin his day.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You'll get used to it eventually.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Does this happen every year???” The falling of the snow only got heavier.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Snowfall? That happens almost daily during winter!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He pulled the hood of the jacket over his head. “This world is nothing but a nightmare…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then, for some reason, Wels put down the lantern, and scooped up a handful of snow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you throw that at me I will disembowel you,” he threatened calmly, “In front of all of your little friends, even.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh-huh.” Wels shaped the handful of snow into a ball, much to Hels' dismay.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And, and then I'll… do something much worse,” he muttered, “Just don't throw that. The consequences, you don't want to experience them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh? What if I do?” Wels brandished the snowball in his hand, with a smile on his face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sighed, “My dear, do you have a deathwish?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Perhaps..?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And, before Hels could react, the snowball hit him, right where a heart would be if he had one. Well... He did have one, but none of them were his own. They were trophies. Wait. No, no, he had a heart. He'd just decided it'd be better if he forgot about its existence entirely.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Out of pure surprise —shock, mayhaps— he stumbled back, falling into a pile of snow. Sinking into the cold powder. His limbs refused to collaborate on getting him the hell out of there, so he was left just a broken shell of a man, half-dead amongst the corpses of frozen raindrops. Snow wasn't just frozen raindrops, but that's how he simplified it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hels?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You are a horrible man and I am now willing to commit murder. Perhaps even repeatedly.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Weren't you… willing to do that before?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Absolutely. But now I'm going to do that to you, my dear bastard.” His limbs still refused to work together. “You deserve nothing but eternal pain and suffering, in the hands of the cham</span>
  <span>—</span>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright, alright… I'm sorry,” Wels laughed lightly, and offered his hand in a futile attempt of reconciliation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He couldn't be bothered to point out how useless Wels' attempt was, and just let the man help him up. His bones were frozen to the core.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you want your death to be painful, or more of a</span>
  <span>—</span>
  <span>” He brushed the snow off of his jacket, but more continued to drop down from the skies.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can I think about that tomorrow?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...yeah.” He wouldn't have been able to hold a sword with his fingers stiff from the cold, so stabbing Wels wasn't an option.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His feet felt quite heavy as he began dragging himself back towards the door, shivers running through his body. He couldn't handle the snow anymore.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>so uhhhhhh hels is a big mood</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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